Dust to Dust
by mandd
Summary: Healy left Litchfield to fight his own personal demons. Red was forced into a war behind the prison walls. What will the fallout be when Healy returns?
1. Chapter 1

"Red…"

The low rumble of the voice reverberated down her spine and she snapped her head up. When she met his eyes she felt all of the breath leave her lungs.

"Sam…" she croaked. She scanned him up and down. He was thinner—much thinner. The familiar, haunted sorrow that always clouded his eyes had deepened and the shadows underneath were darker.

He nodded slowly. "Hi," he said, searching her face with a pained expression.

Her pulse rocketed and she felt her neck and cheeks flush fever-hot. All of those nights she had lain in her bunk, worrying about him, wondering if she would ever see him again, wondering if he had gone and done something stupid. All of those nights, cursing his name for abandoning her, for selfishly taking advantage of his freedom and leaving when she needed him more than ever…

And now he was here, he was back, and the relief and anger and joy she felt was overwhelming.

She tilted her chin up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Hi? This is what you have to say to me? You disappear for weeks, at the worst possible time…" She broke off as her voice caught, suddenly and mortifyingly on the edge of tears.

"Red…" He flexed his fingers helplessly then put his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry…I'm just…I want to explain to you. Things were very difficult…"

"Oh, well—" she tossed her head and gave an exaggerated shrug. "That explains everything. 'Things' were _difficult_!" she spat, throwing up her hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that things were _difficult_ for you. Because around here, little girls were dying in the cafeteria. We had a full fledged war with these shitty, motherfucking CO's. Things were pretty fucking difficult around here too, or maybe you've heard? And now you have the balls to walk in here and…what? Shoot the shit?"

She pushed herself out her chair and stalked toward him until they were just inches apart. "Where have you been?" she whispered. "Where did you go? It was so bad here, so terrible and you just…poof…disappeared into thin air."

She stared up at him and the grief and shame on his face gutted her and she felt her rage slipping away. "We needed you." She closed her eyes, blinking hard against the tears that threatened. "I needed you."

He cleared his throat and shook his head, looking down at the floor as he brushed the hair off of his forehead in that familiar gesture, and she wanted to punch him hard, a quick jab to the jaw that would knock him off balance and bruise for a week. She wanted to spit on his shoes. She wanted to throw her arms around his shoulders and pull him to her and bury her face in his neck and just stay there for a long, long time.

She turned away and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve.

"Can I please see you in my office?" It was barely a whisper.

She shook her head, her back to him.

"Red. Please…Please, Galina."

She whirled back around at the shock of the sad, sweet sound of her given name.

Then she looked into his tortured eyes and knew what she had known all along. Things had been more than "difficult" for him. He hadn't jumped ship—he had come unmoored. She'd seen it in his office on that horrible day, and his vacant blue stare had haunted her ever since. He hadn't abandoned them. He hadn't abandoned _her._ He'd been lost at sea.

And now he'd found his way back.

She nodded slowly and he closed his eyes and sighed with just the barest hint of the saddest smile.

As she followed him she wondered how many times she would have to learn that even the most shattered heart could still find a new way to break.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam held the door open for Red, his heart pounding as she headed for the small sofa instead of the chair in front of his desk. His mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty.

Ever since the antidepressants had kicked in one thing had become very clear: his walk into the lake was a long time coming and really no surprise. He was living a life completely devoid of beauty, friendship, warmth or love.

With one untouchable, unobtainable exception…

He paced in front of her, not ready yet to look up at her sweet little face, pinched tight with hurt and anger. "Red, I…I've thought a lot about what to say to you." He wiped his hands on his pants and sighed.

"Sit down," she said, quietly, patting the spot on the sofa next to her. He looked up and saw no trace of hostility or judgment. Her blue eyes were full of guarded concern.

He sat down next to her, and suddenly this all seemed even harder than he'd expected. He'd imagined saying this with the desk between them; her arms crossed and her eyes flashing fire. But she was so near and so soft…

"I got into a pretty bad place after they found that guard." He swallowed hard. He had forgotten all of his rehearsed speeches. "I was going to walk into the lake," he blurted out and her eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened. "Well. I _did_ walk into the lake. But I walked back out, obviously which wasn't exactly the plan." He glanced at her again. She looked shocked and horrified and if he hadn't known better he'd have thought she was on the verge of tears. "Anyway, I'll never forgive myself for leaving when you needed me-all of you-but when I found out that Whitehall really did murder a guard…I spent so much time with her…gave her so much counsel…I mean, christ, Red, she confessed to me. Many, many times. And I thought she was just delusional…

"She is delusional."

"Yes . And she's also a murderer. And it just slipped right past me." He shook his head and shifted his legs a little further away from her. She was too close and he had to fight her pull, no matter how difficult or painful.

"I don't know…something snapped. I just didn't think I could do it anymore. Any of it. I just felt so tired. And defeated. And useless. And you and I…"

He waited for her to bristle, but instead she closed her eyes and tilted her head a little. She didn't look angry she looked…wounded.

"I'm not laying this at your feet, believe me. The divorce with Katya, my failures here, hell, the trajectory of my entire life…It all just piled up on me. I mean, my god Red, I leave here every night and go home to an empty house. I microwave a frozen dinner that tastes like cardboard then surf channels on tv until I fall asleep. That's my life. And then I come back here and do it all over again the next day. And I just thought…for just a while I thought maybe, finally…I mean you and I..." He was seriously botching this. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a second trying to collect his thoughts. "I'm trying to say that you were right when you said we didn't have a real relationship. I see that now. I imagined things with you that weren't there, just like I missed things with Whitehill that _were_ there."

She started to interrupt, but he needed to finish this before she got the wrong idea and before he ran out of steam and courage. "But things are better now. I checked myself into therapy and I got help. I started taking the right medication, and I'm feeling stronger. So after I heard what happened to Washington and then the showdown with the guards…and then they shipped in another fifty inmates? Christ,, they have you all packed so tight in here now...things are only going to get worse. Anyway, I felt like I had to come back. I don't know, maybe I really am useless, maybe I should just hang it up, but I owe it to you…I mean, to all of you, to help if I can… "

"You're not useless," she cried, her voice rough. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand then stood up and paced the small room up and down, stopping in front of him. "I have to tell you something. I shouldn't tell you, but I'm going to and before I do, I need you to know that I am not involved in this and also that I won't give you any more information. You will want to question me, but forget about it, you'll be wasting your breath."

He nodded, totally perplexed as she sat back down and leaned forward. "I'm trusting you with this because I want to help you. Because I care about you." She shook her head. "Promise me, this isn't going to come back and bite me in the ass?"

He shook his head transfixed, still stuck on the phrase, _I care about you…_

"I promise," he answered.

"Ok." She took a deep breath. "I can't give you any details. All I can tell you is that Whitehill is not a killer. It was self defense."

"Red, that's not …she murdered a CO. She confessed over and over. She had a breakdown in the garden right over his dismembered body…"

"It wasn't a CO. It was a hitman impersonating a CO."

"A hitman?" He couldn't hide his shock. Red was too intelligent to believe Whitehall's lunatic ravings. "Red, you do know that Whitehall is a delusional schizophrenic? Whatever she told you was all in her head. She thought everyone was after her…"

"Yes, she did, but this time she happened to be right. Healy, you know me. You know that I know what I'm talking about. This is the truth. And no one, not the world's best psychiatrist, not even someone with a crystal ball could have known it. How could you know that the ramblings of a delusional schizophrenic held some truth? I know it's hard to believe. And I have no proof, there _is_ no proof. But it's true. I shouldn't be telling you this: I could be implicating myself as an accomplice to murder. But I'm telling you anyway because I trust you. Because I care. And also because," her chin began to tremble and her voice broke. "Because I really don't want you to get any more ideas about walking into lakes."

She wiped at her right eye just as a tear rolled down her left cheek and she swiped at it and looked away, trying to compose herself. His heart lurched and ached. He longed to comfort her, to hold her or brush the tears away.

And at the same time his mind was reeling with what she had just told him. Had Whitehall really acted in self-defense? If this was true, and coming from Red he felt sure that it was, he had to get her out of Psych…but how? Yes, she was delusional, but if she'd been acting in self defense she didn't being there. Truth be told, no one did.

He stared at his shoes as he tried to order his thoughts. "I'm going to need some time to process all of this. No one will ever hear what you just told me... I would never do that to you. But I failed Whitehill…I told them she did it…"

"She did do it!" Red insisted, eyes blazing. "Just not for the reasons everyone thought. Sam, you didn't fail her. The system did. You are a good man. This isn't on you. This is on the system. The same system that killed Washington and brought in so many untrained guards they didn't even notice when one of them went missing. The same system that has us packed to the rafters like animals. We're all a part of this, all of us who are in here, the guards, you, Caputo, the prisoners, we are all just part of this system, whether we want to be or not. You're just a cog in the wheel, like all of us."

He started to object, but she cut him off again.

"And I'm sorry." She looked into his eyes and he was mesmerized by the depth of turmoil and emotion he saw there. "I'm sorry if I made things worse for you, if I made you feel this," she gestured between them, "was all in your head."

Sorry. She was sorry. Sorry for him, sorry that he had been so low he'd try to kill himself. This was pity, plain and simple. He had to end this charade for himself, but also for Red. She didn't want this burden. She didn't want him. She'd been about as clear as a person could be on that front. He needed to let her go.

"Red." He said his voice tight. "You don't owe me any apologies. You were right, this can't be a consensual relationship. It's impossible and I know that now. I can't ever stop wanting…to be here for you, as your counselor, as someone who can help you if things get rough in here. But as for anything else, it's over. I promise. I got carried away. I lost my head for a while, got a little turned around, but I know up from down again."

Red seemed to have frozen. She sat very straight and very still. When he got no response he rambled on. "In a lot of ways it's good that I was forced into seeking treatment. My boundaries, my priorities got all mixed up. But I'm back on track. I need to work on changing quite a few things about my life. And the first thing I need to do is try to be more professional here at work. And that includes my relationships with the inmates."

Her eyes flashed at the word inmates and he felt he'd made a misstep but didn't exactly know where.

Red stood up slowly and straightened her white jacket. "Well," she said slowly. "Sounds like you have it all figured out."

He huffed a bitter laugh. "I think we both know that's not true." He stood to face her and wondered if maybe he shouldn't have come back. He was never going to get over this woman, would never believe that she wasn't his soul mate. He would act appropriately, he would play his part, but he would never really move on. The key would be to keep his distance, and watch over her from afar.

She set her jaw and the last bit of sweet, soft Galina slid under the mask of Red the badass, and just like that, all of her openness and vulnerability vanished. He needed to learn how to do that. She was a master.

"Thank you, Red," he said to her back as she walked to the door.

But in the glance she threw him over her shoulder he realized he was wrong about her mask. He eyes were full of sadness and something else, something familiar, something that gave him that rare, free falling feeling that he was looking into a mirror when they locked eyes. And then she disappeared without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

Red raced down the hall chanting: just make it to the kitchen, just make it to the kitchen. The kitchen would be empty. If she could just get there without stopping she could fall apart or scream into the refrigerator or do whatever she needed to do to release the pain that was blocking up her throat. All she had to focus on now was making it there without drawing attention to herself.

Sam. She'd known he'd been in bad shape but she'd had no idea it was this bad. Walking into the lake? The fact that she'd played any part in his suicidal depression was devastating. The moment she'd realized that he'd attempted to drown himself, she felt like _she'd_ been dunked underwater and held down. As he spoke, her lungs felt compressed and her chest ached as she imagined what would have happened if he had succeeded—if that last, lost day in his office had been goodbye forever. If she had never seen him again. And, then, as if she had been pulled out of the water at the last minute, she gasped in the truth in one hungry, desperate breath.

She loved him.

She loved him, and after the quick shock of the realization sizzled through her she realized it wasn't really a shock at all. On some subconscious, bone-deep level she had known this, and she'd known it for a long time. And she had almost lost him…

In a panic, she had divulged the partial truth about Lolly.

She'd cleaned it up, omitting the fact that Vause, not Lolly had actually finished off the hitman. She didn't want him thinking he'd sent an innocent woman to psych. She didn't care if it wasn't exactly true, and she didn't care if it came back to haunt her. She would say anything, do anything as long as she didn't lose him.

She had been about to confess to everything: that he had been right about what was going on between them, that there was a future after LItchfield…that she did believe in soulmates…

And then he'd interrupted her and told her that he was feeling better, that he had his boundaries in place, that he was going to be more professional with the 'inmates" from now on...and the earth beneath her shifted again and she felt like she'd been tossed back into the waves.

He was right. He would be better without this impossible bond between them. If she confessed her feelings she would put them both at risk of being caught and he had everything to lose. What good would come if he were sent to jail just as she was getting out?

And what if it was true? What if he really _had_ gotten over it—over her—and had moved on and chalked his feelings up to an error of judgment and lack of boundaries?

"Inmate!"

Her spine straightened in spite of the sharp protest of the muscles in her lower back and she froze in her tracks. Goddammit, all she wanted was to get to the kitchen and now she had to deal with satan himself.

She turned slowly. "Yes sir…" she sneered narrowing her eyes as she looked up at Piscatella.

"Where's the fire, Reznikov?" he asked, crossing his arms.

She sighed. "Just heading to my office to inventory bags of slop. I hear we might have company soon. I need to be prepared."

"What you need is to mind your own business and not listen to gossip. If and when we increase the inventory in the kitchen you'll get it as a direct order. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. Oh," he squinted at her and stepped closer, invading her space and making her want to recoil, but she held her ground. "What's that on your mouth? That wouldn't be lipstick, would it? Tsk, tsk," he waved a finger under her nose. "i'm going to have to give you shot for that. I already warned you not to smear that disgusting war paint on your face again." He opened his pad and began writing. "Wipe it off." He looked up from his book and glared at her "Now."

Red seethed, but slowly and deliberately brought the back of her wrist to her lips and wiped off the lipstick, then held her stained arm up to his face.

He smiled iciily. "Guess that old saying is true. You put lipstick on a pig, and it's still a pig."

He ripped off the shot and pressed it hard against her shoulder then sauntered off.

She closed her eyes and counted to five. When she opened her eyes, she saw Sam, not ten feet away, and from the look on his face he had heard more than enough of that exchange.

She felt raw and exposed and she absolutely couldn't take another run in with him right now. She turned and headed for the kitchen at double speed.


End file.
